Mary, Did You Know?
by Ibelieveinsam
Summary: S11: Sam wakes up to find himself celebrating the perfect Christmas with his mother. However, something is missing. Is it all just a beautiful dream or a nightmare?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I'm not sure where this story came from but I think it was the general idea of Sam getting to spend Christmas with his mother and then I just went from there. I don't think it turned out exactly as I expected it to, or went in the direction I wanted, but it's kind of a tumultuous time in the brothers' lives so it's hard to know where to end things. I plan to post this quickly (it's 3 parts) as I have another story that's demanding to be written, especially after the midseason finale which has broken my heart for poor Sam. I need to fix what happened! Hopefully I will have that posted before 11x10 airs. I had plans to post this before Christmas but life got in the way. Merry Christmas all! Hope it was wonderful.

A/N 2: Please be advised that I started this before Thanksgiving so it takes place some time around 11x07 or 11x08. There are no spoilers for 11x09.

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Mary Did You Know?

Sometimes on the eve of holidays, Sam Winchester dreamed that he was waking up to a traditional meal, something delicious cooking in the oven, either a turkey, a sweet potato casserole with marshmallows, or perhaps some pies. There were pans on the stove also filled with scrumptious offerings like whipped mashed potatoes, or homemade macaroni and cheese. Often the odor was so intense that he'd wake up half expecting to see the scene unfolding before him, a figure busy at the stove, and then he'd hear his name as he was being called to the table. This was one of those times. He came to consciousness slowly, for a moment letting himself just savor the strong smell of warm apples, cinnamon, and nutmeg that hung in his nostrils. He inhaled more deeply and he could swear something was baking in the next room.

"Sam? Sammy?" A voice called out to him, pulling him from his slumber. He cracked his eyelids open slowly and he was encased in warm blankets in a cozy bed, not anything like his room at the bunker or the beds at the hotel rooms. He spotted a Harry Potter poster across the room on a wall that read: _Happiness can be found in the darkest of times if only one remembers to turn on the light._

It was these personal touches to the room that had Sam popping up in the bed, looking around confusedly.

He looked at the clock, bleary eyed and saw that it was just after 8, much later than his 6:30 AM wake up call he usually gave himself. He had begun setting the clock to avoid sleeping late. As he saw it, the more he slept, the more time he had for nightmares and he'd been having _far_ too many of those lately.

"Hey you okay?" The familiar voice asked him again.

He turned slowly to look, but then again he didn't want to, because he knew she'd be there and then she'd be gone. However, he looked anyway because he could never get enough of seeing her even if in a photograph, even if he was setting himself up for the inevitable heartbreak.

There she was.

 _His mother._

He sat up in the bed, taking her in. Usually when he dreamt of her, she was younger, as she appeared in photographs, the only real "memories" or mementos he had of her besides those strange trips to the past where he met a younger version of her, or other odd visions of her manifested by the dark side.

This time, he noted, she was older with some lines on her face, hints of silver in her blonde hair. He took in her appearance and felt the ache settle in his chest, at what could have been.

 _This is the age she should be now, but she's not,_ he thought. _Because of me._

Tears threatened as they sat gazing at each other.

"Mom?" He said, shakily.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to call you, Sammy. You're not little anymore," she said, cupping his face. "But then again, you'll always be my baby," she continued, patting him on the cheek, slightly embarrassed.

"It's okay," he rasped out.

"You're not feeling sick are you? I have an apple coffee cake baking in the oven, your favorite."

Was that his favorite? He didn't know, couldn't know really, since he never had anyone to make it for him.

"No, I feel fine. It's just…" Sam's voice dropped off.

"What?" She asked, concernedly. "You look like you've just seen a ghost. You sure you aren't sick?" She asked, placing a hand on his forehead.

He wanted to jerk away, to wake himself up from what he knew was an obvious dream but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead he embraced it, her soft, maternal hand on his forehead, as if it was real.

"You don't feel warm," she said. "But why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what," Sam asked, his eyes watery.

"Like if you look away, I might disappear at any second."

 _Because you will,_ Sam thought sadly.

"I'll tell you what. I'll bring you up a piece of coffee cake so you can eat here. You've had a long trip and you're probably still tired."

A long trip? He didn't get it. However, he didn't get a chance to ask her because she had gone.

He got out of the bed he was sleeping in and realized there was luggage on the floor. Even though he was one hundred percent certain that this was a dream, rarely did he recall his other dreams being so vivid. He'd never returned from a trip in them anyway.

He picked up the suitcase on the floor and rifled through it, surprised to actually find belongings in it. He found some items that were a stark contrast to his usual wardrobe. One sweater was an awfully gaudy Christmas sweater and he made a face in disgust.

He heard his mother behind him, giggling. Her laugh was loud, melodic, and sounded like church bells and it made his heart skip a beat.

"I think you picked out a good one for the party," she said, holding the still steaming slice of coffee cake on a plate in her hand along with a cup of cocoa. The beverage was adorned with whipped cream in a festive Christmas moose cup.

"What party?" Sam asked.

"The ugly sweater Christmas party of course! It's tradition. I know it's been awhile since you've been home but we always have a great time."

"Oh yeah," Sam stuttered. "I'm sure it will be great."

He looked around the room some more when it hit him. This was his old house, his nursery. He half expected to see a burn mark on the ceiling and he shuddered.

"Is this my old nursery?" Sam asked, nervously.

"Naturally. This has always been your room and even when you went off to school, I kept it the same, right down to that Harry Potter poster on the wall. You loved those books, filled with magic and the impossible."

 _The impossible?_ Not so much for him. Not when he related to Harry with his mother dying for him and branding him with a lightening bolt scar that connected him to the killer forever, all too reminiscent of the demon blood taint he was left with, that also connected him to his mother's killer.

"Now finish your breakfast and come downstairs when you're ready," Mary said, interrupting his thoughts. We have a tree to finish decorating."

He couldn't help the small flutter of excitement in his heart at the thought of decorating a Christmas tree with his mother, even though he knew this still wasn't real.

However, it seemed so real. He felt the plate in his hands, smooth and solid. The cocoa cup warmed his palms and the smell of chocolate wafted up his nose. He took the fork and bit into the cake, a perfect consistency and blend of cinnamon and other spices. He savored it because he'd never eaten anything so delicious before, fresh out of the oven, not even in the nicer restaurants he'd eaten in. He sipped his cocoa and whipped cream tickled his nose. He scrubbed at the moustache he was left with, and saw the remnants of it on his fingers, as tangible as anything else.

Maybe his other life had been a nightmare and this was in fact reality. He didn't understand, but for now? He was going to enjoy this time with his mother.

After finishing his cake, down to the last crumb, he went to his suitcase and grabbed some clothes. He noticed immediately that there was a lot less flannel than he was used to but he wasn't a hunter here. Instead there were dressier shirts with pullover sweaters. He found a hooded sweatshirt he could wear that said Boston University.

 _Massachusetts?_ He thought, confusedly. He hadn't gone to school there. However, he pulled the sweatshirt over his head.

As he continued going through the suitcase, he was surprised to find a teacher's ID tucked away in one of the pockets.

He was a teacher?

Yes, apparently so.

There was a picture of him, smiling, with the name "Mr. Winchester" and "staff" written on it. He worked at Northeastern High School. He ignored it for now, because he never had aspirations to be a teacher so it didn't make sense. However, nothing made any sense so what did it matter?

He took a quick stroll around the room, looking at his belongings, or what were supposedly his belongings. There was a bookshelf filled with the Harry Potter collection of course, as well as other classics such as The Chronicles Of Narnia. There was quite the eclectic collection of other books including The Wizard of Oz, Alice In Wonderland, and a collection of fairy tales. There also were a lot denser texts like Dante's Inferno, and a copy of the Bible. He ran his hands over the bindings, fondly.

There were some sports trophies around for soccer but also many more for academics and other pursuits. Apparently he'd won something called a "vision" award but he wasn't sure what it was for. He'd also won best actor in a play he had been in and even an award for the debate team. He smiled, even though they weren't technically earned, in spite of himself. He also noticed some collectibles around including vintage Thundercat figures still in their original packaging and he smiled again. What made him really happy though were the personal touches in the room, the handmade curtains and some pillows he could tell were handstitched by his mother, with the name "Samuel" lovingly etched into the fabric.

He left his room, and walked out into the hallway. He walked down the stairwell and the banister was wrapped in garland, glistening with white lights. There were photos on the wall with him featured prominently in them. There were pictures of him as a baby with chubby cheeks and a big dimpled grin. There was him in a cap and gown, holding up his diploma. There was also a picture of him dressed in a soccer uniform between both his parents, holding up a trophy that looked like the one in his room. His favorite though was the picture of him as a teenager holding a golden retriever puppy. It struck him how absolutely carefree he looked in all those pictures. It was all so normal, and deep down it both pleased and bothered him.

As he made it to the bottom of the stairs, he gasped in awe of the living room. The fireplace was also decked out in garland with stockings carefully hung. An array of pictures was lined up perfectly in a row including one of him when he was young with Santa Claus. Then he saw the tree, a sight to behold. It wasn't completely decorated yet but it was huge, at least ten feet tall, touching the ceiling filled with multicolored lights. Sam paused taking it in. Even though it wasn't yet filled with ornaments, it was gorgeous. He didn't smell the aroma of pine and he realized then it was an artificial tree. In fact, he noted that even the garland was not real.

As he turned the corner in the kitchen, he saw his mom seated at the counter, bopping around to a Christmas song, sipping her morning coffee. Again, he had to pause and look at her.

"There's my boy!" She exclaimed when she saw him. "I was really worried you were coming down with something."

"Hi m…mom," he stuttered on the word again, so foreign to his lips. He noticed an old dog at her feet, probably in his later teen years and he realized it had to be—

"Is that…," Sam asked, pointing at the dog, knowing it was the dog in the picture, but then realizing he didn't know his name.

"Aslan?" She answered for him. "You haven't forgotten the old guy have you?"

"No, of course not," Sam said, sheepishly. He bent down to scratch the dog behind the ears. Aslan got up and wagged his tail, looking much more energetic than before. Even though he didn't know this dog, the dog seemed to know him and was happy to see him.

"Hey Aslan," Sam said, as the dog barked in greeting, holding up a paw for him to shake.

 _Aslan._

So he'd named his dog after the lion in the Chronicles of Narnia.

 _Makes sense._

He shook Aslan's paw and Mary smiled.

"You were so proud when you taught him that. Sometimes I think you thought of that dog as more of a brother than anything else. He's missed you so much."

"I missed him too," Sam replied, feeling as if some part of that was true.

"What do you think of the tree?" Mary asked. "Had to get artificial as usual because of your allergies," she said, smiling.

Allergies? He didn't recall ever being allergic to pine. He'd spent so many hours in a forest that if he had been allergic, he'd probably be dead.

"I got Mr. Bailey, our neighbor, to help me. Of course your dad would have helped if he was…still with us," she said, softly.

Sam realized he was dead, not a part of this scenario.

"It looks great," Sam reassured her. "Hey mom," Sam began, more naturally this time, deciding that he loved saying the word 'mom.'

"Yes," she asked.

"When did you know I wanted to be a teacher?" He asked, genuinely curious.

"Well that came as a surprise, but then again, not really. You were dead set on being a lawyer and then with the full ride to Stanford and those scores, it seemed like you had made the right choice. However, you weren't truly happy and I could tell. I just knew you were meant to help people, be a leader and a role model. So when you said you were going back to school to be a teacher, I was pretty happy to be honest."

He blushed.

"I wasn't thrilled about you going away again and to Boston, no less, but your happiness is my happiness. Now you have your job there and it's hard that you aren't able to visit as much as I'd like, but I know you had to get established. What matters is you're here now."

So he lived in Boston, had travelled here from there.

 _But no, not really, right?_

"You always used to correct our grammar constantly. I should have known it then. I think you drove your dad a bit nuts. English seems like the perfect choice for you and look at you now, Mentor of the year. I'm so proud of you," She said, practically beaming. She reached over and hugged him.

Wow, so this was his life. He liked it. A lot.

"Now all you need to do is find Mrs. Right. I know it broke your heart about breaking off the engagement with Jess, but I'm sure there are plenty of people who'd love a handsome and smart guy like you."

"Why'd we break it off?" Sam asked, sounding surprised.

"I think you know that better than I do," she replied, taking another sip of her coffee.

"No, I mean, why do _you_ think we did?" Sam corrected his question because in this dream he wasn't sure what happened.

"I think she thought you were a natural lawyer so she wasn't happy about the career switch. Or as you called it, you were no longer seeing eye to eye."

Sam just nodded, wondering if these events would have occurred if he'd actually lived this life, a regular life.

 _This isn't real,_ he reminded himself again, realizing that the more he had to do that, the more it hurt him.

"Let's not talk about that," she said, interrupting his thoughts. "I'm happy to wait for your wedding and for grandchildren. We have all the time in the world," she said, smiling.

 _No we don't_ , Sam thought sadly.

"Oh I love this song! She exclaimed suddenly, getting up. Sam realized it was the one his father would sing, the one by Judy Collins.

No, but wait, it wasn't. It was Judy Collins but it was another song.

Mary began to sing and dance around the kitchen, and for a moment Sam just watched the graceful figure of his mother. Then she began to sing along and Sam couldn't help it but he started to sing along too.

 _Moons and Junes and ferris wheels the dizzy dancing way you feel_

 _When every fairy tale comes real, I've looked at love that way_

Soon they were both singing a duet, her voice crisp and clear which helped cover up his not so perfect pitch.

 _I've looked at love from both sides now_

 _From win and lose and still somehow_

 _It's love's illusions I recall,_

 _I really don't know love at all_

How did he know this song?

 _Dad must have sung this song too,_ he decided.

They headed into the living room after and began decorating the tree.

"I'm so lucky to have such a tall son or else the top part of the tree would look terrible," she said laughing.

Sam had to admit that he was pretty good at reaching the upper branches even though he didn't have much experience decorating a tree. However, the tree was ten feet so even he needed a ladder. They were both having such a good time, blasting Christmas carols, that Sam forgot the whole idea that this was a dream and he could wake up any moment. Spending time with his mother seemed so natural, as it should be with a mother and son. For now, he was creating a memory he might never have.

They were goofing around so much that Sam lost his footing and realized he was going to fall off the ladder. He slipped, falling to the floor and hitting his head on the ground. His head had barely made contact with the floor so he didn't think he was injured, just stunned.

"Oh dear God, Sam! Are you okay?" She asked.

"Yeah, mom. I'm fine," he said.

Despite his protests, she hustled him over to the couch and got him an ice pack for his head. He held it there, while Aslan put his head in his lap, whimpering.

"I hope you're okay for the party tomorrow," she said, worriedly.

Sam looked down at the ornament on the floor, the one he was about to hang on the tree when he fell. It was painted glass with the name Dean on it.

 _Dean._

Then Sam had to ask the inevitable question, the one that had been niggling at the back of his brain since he woke up in this alternate universe.

"Mom, when is Dean getting here?"

Sam saw something strange pass over her face, a look of complete bewilderment.

"Sam, honey," she began. "Who is Dean?"

TBC

You know what would be the best Christmas present ever? If you leave a review and let me know what you think :)


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you immensely for the follows, favorites, and for your lovely reviews. I also enjoy the guesses as to what's going on. You all are very creative and smart! I really hope you enjoy chapter 2.

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Sam looked at her in complete shock. Was she joking?

"My brother," he said.

Sam noticed she looked slightly frightened by this response.

"Sam, honey, you don't have a brother. You're an only child."

"No, mom," Sam said, shaking his head vehemently, dropping the ice pack. "I do. He's four years older than me, born in 1979. That's his ornament over there," Sam said, pointing.

She walked over and scooped it up.

"This?" She asked.

"Yes. It says Dean right on it, for your son."

"No, Sam. It says Deanna, for my mother," she replied, turning the ornament sideways to reveal the last two letters on it. "I considered the name for you, after my mother, but then decided to go with Samuel, after my father."

Now he was scared. He needed to wake up now.

"I think I better have a doctor come by and check you out. You must have hit your head harder than I thought."

He saw how flustered she looked and suddenly he didn't want to make it any worse, but then again, what did it matter. This wasn't real, so her feelings weren't real, right? Yet as he watched her speaking on the phone and nervously stealing glances at him, he couldn't bring himself to say anything else. He'd have to figure this out, or wait until he woke up.

As it turned out, Mr. Bailey was married to Dr. Bailey and she was a podiatrist. She wasn't really equipped to deal with head injuries but she came over anyway to look him over. He lay down on the couch, the ice pack back on his head, while she checked his temperature and shined a penlight in his eyes.

"Everything looks okay, Mary," she said. "Temperature normal. Pupils equal and reactive to light."

She began asking him questions about his past, such as where he went to school when he was younger. For a moment, he froze, figuring she'd really think his brain was scrambled because how was he supposed to know? However, he was shocked at how suddenly the answers were coming to him. Yet, how could he know any of this? This wasn't his life.

"His memory is certainly intact," Dr. Bailey said. "I bet you had Ms. Tannenbaum for second grade," she said to Sam, smiling.

"Yeah," Sam nodded. He could see her in his mind, a heavyset woman with graying hair who loved to do art projects with the class. She dressed up for Halloween and did a Secret Santa for the students in class.

 _But this doesn't make sense,_ Sam thought.

"What was that classroom motto she had?" The doctor asked. "When my hand is in the air…"

"All quiet in here," Sam finished, automatically.

 _How do I know that?_

He'd never had a teacher named Ms. Tannenbaum. The year he was in second grade was pretty tumultuous, with a lot of moving around. He'd had several teachers that year, too many names to even recall.

"I think he'll be fine, Mary. Keep an eye on him," Dr. Bailey said, turning to his mother, who was anxiously biting her lip. "If he has any other issues, just call me."

"You don't think maybe he should get checked at the hospital? To rule out a concussion?"

"No, not just yet. If he displays any other signs like dizziness or vomiting, we'll go from there."

Mary just nodded and walked Dr. Bailey to the door as Sam sat on the couch, still in shock. He'd never had a dream like this, never had he erased Dean. Sure he could admit that sometimes in his dreams, Mary was more attentive to him than to Dean, but that was just because Dean had real memories of her and he didn't. Also, he'd never had a dream with memories that didn't exist popping into his head either. His other dreams of his mother were much more simplistic than this, sitting down with her and just talking or the three of them watching a movie together.

Sam paused and looked at the mantel.

No stocking for Dean. He saw that now.

He stood up quickly, and was surprised when a sudden wave of dizziness washed over him. He ignored it and made a dash for the stairs.

"Sammy, where are you going?" Mary called after him.

He paused to look at the pictures on the wall. How hadn't he noticed before? Dean wasn't in any of them. He felt both selfish and foolish, so caught up in this faux reality that he'd forgotten to remember Dean.

He ran to the door across from his and yanked the doorknob.

"What is in here?" Sam asked, as she caught up to him. The door was locked.

"It's a storage room," she said, simply.

"Why is it locked then?" Sam asked, somewhat angrily.

"There is nothing to see in there," she said. "Sam you need to rest," she continued, gently.

"No, this is Dean's room, isn't it? Are you lying to me?"

"Sam, no," she said. "I don't know where this is coming from, but this is your home. There is nothing you want to see in there. You should come downstairs and rest."

He didn't know why he found himself listening to her, but he was filled with an extreme feeling of lethargy, like he really did need to lay down. His head ached too. Maybe if he did go to sleep, he'd wake up and be back to reality.

ooooo

He woke up to soft Christmas music playing on the radio and the bright glow of Christmas lights in the dim room. The light was getting soft outside, the whisper of darkness in the air.

"Are those too bright for you? I'll turn them off," Mary said, referring to the Christmas lights.

"No, mom. They're fine, really pretty actually," he said, sleepily.

"I hope I didn't disturb you while you were sleeping. I checked on you."

"No, I slept pretty well" he said, sitting up on the couch.

Then it struck him. He was still here, had actually gone to sleep in a dream, woken up but yet wasn't awake. This had to be one of those dreams within a dream or something. It was all so muddled.

"I have dinner on the stove, some chicken and scalloped potatoes," Mary said.

"With broccoli?" Sam asked, expectantly.

"Of course, how could I forget?" She said, with a small chuckle.

How could she forget?

 _How could I remember?_

How could he possibly know how he liked his potatoes? He rarely even ever had scalloped potatoes, and not with broccoli. Sure he liked broccoli but he didn't eat that often either. Most fast food places didn't have it.

Also, every time he had it, his brother made fun of him.

 _What's his name?_ Sam thought suddenly. Then for several agonizing seconds, he realized he had to think about it.

 _Dean!_ His mind screamed at him finally. Was he really forgetting? It seemed the more he fed into this delusion, the less he remembered.

Sam marched into the kitchen then, determinedly. He had to let his mother remember Dean.

 _I need to remember Dean._

"Tell me about when Dean was born," Sam said, seating himself at the counter. His mom was at the stove stirring a pot.

"Sam, are you still not feeling well? I'm going to call Dr. Bailey."

"No," Sam said, grabbing her arm and stopping her as she tried to go to the phone.

"You have to remember mom. He's your son."

He saw something pass across her face quickly, but it was hard to read and then it was gone.

Maybe he was being jedi mind tricked by one of those…

 _What were those things they hunted again?_

He found he couldn't remember but maybe this was a lot more sinister than he thought. Maybe he was really chained up somewhere. He only recalled small glimpses of the monster for some reason but he knew there was one who took you to a happy place but this wasn't happy because Dean didn't exist. He couldn't be truly happy without his brother. Maybe it was the other monster that showed you fears. Maybe this was it?

 _Why can't I remember what the monsters are called?_

He knew if he couldn't remember the name, then he couldn't remember how to defeat it or to get out of here.

"Sammy?"

She was talking to him.

"You're really scaring me. You just totally spaced out. Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not," Sam admitted, finally. "I just really need you to remember Dean."

"Is he someone you dreamed about maybe? Maybe you dreamt you had a brother," she gestured, as if trying to humor him.

"No, this is a dream," Sam said, finally. "None of this is real," he continued, getting up. "This whole situation is about as real as that fake Christmas tree in there," he said, gesturing to his surroundings.

He saw her entire demeanor change, her shoulders sagged in utter defeat, and sobs began to wrack her small frame.

"Mom?" he said, reaching out to comfort her. He couldn't help it, couldn't stand to see her in distress, real or imagined. Never had he seen her sad. She was always the smiling face reflected in photographs.

"I'm sorry Sam," she said, sniffling. "I just wanted this Christmas to be perfect. It's been so long since I've seen you. I never wanted to see you hurt and now I can't even help you."

Sam watched as she wiped her nose on a towel and he didn't see any insincerity in her eyes, no matter how hard he looked. He only saw his mother, in pain.

"Mom, I'm really sorry," he said, embracing her.

"No, I'm sorry Sam," she said, turning away. "I'm just being silly. It's just you have your own life now and I'm afraid sometimes you could be forgetting me."

"I could never forget you," Sam said truthfully.

"Hey remember when we got Aslan?" Sam said, suddenly.

She dabbed her eyes but nodded.

"We went to that shelter and dad ended up in the exam room," Sam said, unable to hold back a chuckle. "He walked in when a dog was getting his shots."

"He almost passed out, walked out as pale as a ghost," Mary said, unable to stop herself from laughing too.

"He claimed that a pitbull was loose and he almost got attacked but we knew better," Sam laughed.

Mary joined in too.

"He practically needed a hospital bed the day you were born," she said, laughing again. "I never saw anyone with a weaker stomach."

They both laughed until their sides ached and Sam realized he was hungry again.

"Why don't we sit down and eat?" He suggested.

They sat down at the table together and once again, Sam savored the meal. Everything was delicious. He talked about work, once again events spilling from his lips that he wasn't sure were real or not. He told her about his freshmen class and how they were reading To Kill A Mockingbird, how they were all struggling to understand the symbol of the title.

"But remember it's a sin to kill a mockingbird," Mary said, quoting Atticus. "So much meaning in that small quote."

Sam nodded.

"Try getting that across when half the class is tweeting on their cellphones."

Mary laughed.

"Tough being a teacher these days, but clearly you're making a difference," she said.

Sam helped her wash and dry the dishes and then headed back upstairs to his room. As he walked by his mother's room, he spotted a model car on her nightstand.

 _A 1967 Chevy Impala._

"What's that?" He asked his mother as she ascended the stairs.

"What?" She asked.

"That model car right there."

"Don't you remember Sam? That was your father's. You helped him put that together. He always wanted one of those cars but it wasn't practical you know? Not a family car."

"Oh," Sam responded but it didn't seem right. There was something very important about that car, but he couldn't remember what.

"I'm going to watch some TV before bed. Maybe you should turn in early. You look tired," she suggested, interrupting his thoughts.

Sam just nodded.

Then it hit him again. He didn't think he was supposed to be here. There was something missing but what? He looked behind him again and saw the door. Whatever it was, he knew it was there.

He listened for his mother and he could hear her in her room turning on the TV. He ran into his room and found a paperclip on his nightstand. He unbent it and went over to the door. He tried the knob again but it was still locked. A sudden wave of heaviness hit him and sent him reeling, but he held strong. He had no idea what was going on, but he knew that he had to open the door.

He bent down, putting the new lockpick in the keyhole.

 _He knew how to do this right?_

However, his hands were shaking and nausea rolled over him in waves, his head spinning. The paperclip slipped from his fingers and he felt himself sliding to the floor. He felt horrible and he had no idea why but his head was pounding incessantly.

"Sam!" He heard his mother shout, as she crouched beside him. "Wake up," she begged, shaking his shoulders, but he couldn't move.

"Why were you looking for Dean again?" She asked.

"Who?" He asked, as consciousness eluded him completely and his eyes slammed shut.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: First, let me offer a sincere apology for this update being so late. My intention was to have this posted last week, but unfortunately some work related issues interfered. Thank you for all the lovely reviews, favorites, and follows. I do hope you enjoy this final installment. I feel that it won't live up to expectations because everyone had such creative ideas as to what is actually going on. I hope you enjoy this anyway and you'll let me know what you think. I also want to wish you a happy New Year! I hope it's off to a great start.

* * *

 _Mary did you know that your baby boy_

 _Would someday walk on water?_

 _Mary did you know…_

He woke up in a soft bed to someone singing to him, a Christmas song that he vaguely recalled. He realized he was back in his room, under the warm covers.

Someone was holding a cold compress to his head, and he opened bleary eyes to look into the worried eyes of his mother.

"What happened?" He asked confusedly.

"You fainted Sam. I found you near the storage room passed out."

"I don't remember," Sam said. "Why was I even there?" He asked, trying to pull himself into a sitting position. "Was I looking for something?"

"I don't know," she said, although he noticed she looked quite bothered. "Are you feeling better?" She asked.

"Yeah, I do feel a lot better."

"Oh," she responded, sadly.

Sam couldn't understand why she wouldn't be glad he was feeling better.

"I called Dr. Bailey and Mr. Bailey when I saw you like that," she continued. "He managed to get you into bed. Then she checked you over. I think you should be in a hospital."

"Am I okay? What's wrong with me?" Sam asked, nervously.

"You're fine, honey," she said, rubbing his arm. However, he swore he saw a frightened look in her eyes.

"Mom, tell me what's wrong," he said. "I don't know what it is, but ever since I got here I feel like there is something I need to remember, that I shouldn't be here."

"There is nothing wrong Sam," she said, her mood shifting. "You just have a bad bump on your head."

"My head feels fine, well not the inside of it. It's like everything is mixed up. I'm not even sure I know what's real anymore," Sam blurted out, and he realized he didn't know. It was as if new memories were suddenly crowding his mind, shoving out old ones and he couldn't decipher what was what. "Did I mention anything before?"

"No," she said, her voice practically a whisper as she shook her head. Sam swore he saw unshed tears in her eyes.

"Mom there is something you aren't telling me isn't there?" He asked, jumping up and sitting next to her on the edge of the bed.

She paused for a moment as a tear slipped down her face and studied him.

"Tell me about Dean," she said at last.

"Who?" Sam asked, genuinely confused.

"Your brother," she said, as more tears fell from her eyes.

"I don't have a brother," Sam said. "It's always been just you, me, and dad. Then Aslan of course. I teach high school. This is my life."

"No, Sam, it's not," she said. "You don't belong here."

"How can you say that, mom?" Sam asked, tears forming in his own eyes. "I'm your son."

"Of course you are," she said, cupping his face. "You are my baby boy, my second child. I never wanted this for you," she continued, crying.

"Wanted what?"

"This life. For you to be chosen. More than anything I wanted my boys to have a good life, a normal life."

"I don't understand mom. We have a good life. I do belong here."

She shook her head.

"I just thought if I could keep you here for awhile that I could keep you safe," she cried. "It wasn't right. Come with me, Sam."

"Where?"

She ignored him and just got up and walked to the doorway.

As he got out of bed, he realized he felt dizzy and shaky. He joined her in the doorway as she pointed across the hall.

"The storage room?"

She shook her head again.

"I can't go with you Sam," she said, sadly. "It's up to you."

She grabbed him again and hugged him tightly.

"Please be strong, Sam. It's going to get very hard for you but I have faith in you. I'll be watching out for you."

"Mom, I don't understand," Sam said.

"He wants you to know that you succeeded before in saving the world and he has faith in you too, just as you have shown faith in him too. Even if everything seems lost, if he lies to you, and you aren't sure who or what to believe anymore, hold on to this," she said, taking his hand. "Remember, even in the darkness, you are the light."

 _He? Who was he? Was she talking about more than one person?_

He didn't get it, but she let go of his hand, pointed again towards the door and he went forward. The closer he got, the more strange he felt. His head began to pound and he felt unsteady on his feet.

"Mom I don't feel so—"

"That's good, Sam. Keep going."

"But mom, I—"

"Tell me about Dean," she replied, cutting him off again.

"He's my big brother," Sam said, simply as images of him and Dean driving in the Impala, laughing, and talking flashed across his mind, erasing any hint of the fabricated memories of before.

She nodded, a sad smile on her face.

The door. He had to get to the door. The answer was there.

After several agonizing steps, he was in front of it. He felt like he was slogging through quicksand as he walked forward, the air thick and his vision blurry. He couldn't help but glance back at his mother, even though he knew he had to go.

"Mom, are you real?" He asked, finally, his hand on the doorknob.

"Always," she replied, as he opened the door.

ooooo

 _Mary did you know that your baby boy_

 _Would save our sons and daughters_

He came to slowly, the song still in his head, but no. It wasn't in his head. Someone was singing it. It wasn't who he remembered before. This was—

 _Dean._

He opened his eyes to see the haggard looking face of his brother, crooning the song, his eyes half lidded. Sam could see the remnants of dried tears on his face.

He tried to talk, but he could feel a strange pressure in his throat, preventing him from talking.

He felt a weight on his hand and he realized Dean had one hand resting on top of his own. He wiggled his fingers and instantly Dean opened his eyes fully and looked at him.

"Sammy?" He said in shock.

Sam watched as his brother's shoulders sagged in relief. He looked around at his surroundings and it was clear he was in a hospital, although he had no recollection why. His head ached just as it had in the dream and he felt slightly disoriented.

He saw Dean hitting the call button but everything became fuzzy after that. He realized he must have dozed off again, but when he woke up, he knew it was different. The tube, as he now figured out, that he had in his throat was gone and he felt more cognizant of his surroundings.

"Do you have any idea what you've been through?" Dean asked, his voice gruff.

Funny he felt like telling Dean the same thing, that he had no idea what he'd just been through.

"What happened?" He rasped out.

"Ice," Dean said, still in disbelief. "One minute we were crossing the street and you were right next to me. The next minute I turned around and you were gone. When I looked back, you…" Dean said, his voice dropping off.

"Did I hit my head?"

"Yeah you must have slipped on the ice and cracked your head on the curb coming down. I thought you'd be okay and I tried getting you to wake up but you were out."

"I wouldn't wake up?" Sam asked.

"Dude, you were in a coma."

"A coma?" Sam asked, shocked.

"Yeah and they couldn't explain it either. I had to call an ambulance and they rushed you over here. They said all your scans were clear. Your brain appeared to be intact and no skull fracture, yet you just kept getting worse. You slipped into a coma and you weren't even breathing on your own. They thought maybe you'd injured your brain stem, that maybe there was no..." Dean's voice dropped off then as if he didn't even want to fathom it.

"No what, Dean?" Sam pressed.

"No coming out of it," Dean finished, finally.

"I'm sorry," Sam said. "For scaring you."

"It's not your fault, Sam. You don't have to apologize. I must have talked to you non stop for the last three days," Dean said, sheepishly.

Sam noticed that Dean's voice did sound rough, hoarse from overuse.

"I apologized then but you probably didn't hear me," Dean continued, turning his face away as if embarrassed.

"Why did you apologize?" Sam asked.

"For being a jerk the last few weeks. I don't know why I've been so bitter to you about your…your," Dean stuttered, searching for the right word.

"Faith?" Sam suggested.

"Yes, that," Dean admitted. "I guess it scares me."

"I know, Dean. The cage. And you're right. I should have thought of how it would affect you. It's just I feel like I have to follow this through."

"I guess it's not only that too. It's how it reminds me of mom."

 _Mom._

Suddenly Sam remembered his entire dream, or was it a vision?

"She always said angels were watching over us, but they weren't. No one was protecting her the night she died. I mean, how can I be sure that anyone is going to protect you if you go back there. I mean, if I'm not there to protect you myself."

Sam nodded sadly. He knew how protective Dean was of him.

"I just don't think I can go back there, okay?" Dean said, suddenly, his voice rising. He got up from his seat and began to pace.

"Dean, please. Sit down. I understand," Sam instructed.

Dean complied after several seconds but he still looked anxious.

"Last time I watched you jump into the hole knowing where you were going," Dean began, a far off look in his eyes. "Then I thought you were back but the whole time you were still stuck there. Then you got your soul back and those memories nearly killed you. This whole scenario makes me remember when that wall in your head came down and all I could do was sit there and watch you helplessly. Honestly I don't even know how you could even consider such a thing, Sammy. How do you know this will help at all?"

"I guess that just takes..."

"Faith," Dean said, finishing his sentence. "Yeah, yeah I know. Like I said, I'm just not sure I have that. You must have inherited that from Mom."

"Dean, I...I had a dream about her, or maybe it was something more," Sam stuttered, almost afraid Dean would laugh at him, brush it off like his vision of their father.

"You mean like you told me about before? Normal stuff?"

"Yeah it was normal stuff but I feel like she was trying to tell me something."

"So you think it was a vision?"

Sam nodded, trying to gauge Dean's reaction. He watched his brother's face change from skeptical to willing to hear him out.

"I don't know. Maybe I want to believe it's something more and it's not," Sam replied, suddenly second guessing himself. "It really didn't make sense."

Dean nodded.

"What did you talk to me about while I was sleeping?"

"Nothing really," Dean said. "And at the same time, everything. I think I even talked about the car once."

"Really?" Sam asked.

 _Maybe that's why I saw that model car,_ Sam thought logically. _Maybe I was just experiencing bleedthrough. Dean's words were filtering into my head._

Yet he couldn't let go of the idea that there was something more to it.

"You were singing though too. Mom sang to me in the dream, the same song you were singing."

Dean blushed.

"It's always been a favorite since I was young. Mom used to sing it at Christmas," Dean said, shrugging. "Look I can't believe I'm saying this but I think you need to get some sleep. You look exhausted. Just not as much as last time okay?"

"What about the-"

"Cage?" Dean finished for him.

"We'll talk about it later."

He had to admit he did feel tired again, probably due to the fact that his brain was on overdrive. He began to hum as he nestled into the pillows, the familiar melody. He was drifting when he was startled awake.

"Sammy? Sammy?" Dean asked, trying to get him to wake up.

"Yeah," Sam replied.

"What were you just humming?" Dean asked.

"A song from the dream I had of Mom."

"Sammy's lullaby," Dean whispered.

"What?" Sam asked, sitting up in bed again.

"That song. Dad used to call it Sammy's lullaby."

"You mean, 'Both Sides Now?' Did he sing it to us, like he sang that other Judy Collins song?"

"No, Mom used to sing it to you all the time. After she died he told me to never...never sing it again for some reason," Dean stuttered. "He didn't mind the other one, but there was something about that one. Not sure how you could know it unless-"

"You think," Sam began, as their eyes locked. "That it really could have been mom then?"

"I don't know, Sammy. Go to sleep okay?"

"Okay," Sam said, simply.

Sam was about to turn his head in the pillow when Dean spoke to him again.

"For what it's worth though, as much as I don't like this whole cage idea, I know that if anyone can take this on and figure it out, it's you."

"Thanks, Dean," Sam replied, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Sam settled in, knowing his brother was deep in thought. He knew his brother was wrestling with his conscience. While his conscience wouldn't let him say no to returning to the cage, Dean's conscience wouldn't allow it. He also knew his brother was left dumbfounded about his vision and he could almost see Dean, his elbow perched on his knee, his hand under his chin while he tried to figure out what was happening. He tried to close his eyes and sleep but he couldn't stop thinking either. If it was his mom sending him a vision, then why would she erase Dean?

 _Because she knew forgetting Dean was the only way to save me from the cage._

Suddenly it made sense. His mother knew that she couldn't just manufacture a fake Dean. He knew his brother too well. If he couldn't remember his brother, then there was nothing tying him here, back home. If he died, he would be safe from harm.

 _But yet she helped me remember him._

He knew that was definitely true too, that while she wanted to protect him from the cage, at the same time she knew he had to go back. He had to go back to his brother and he had an important mission to do. While all her remarks didn't make sense, he knew more than ever that he was going to have to rely on faith.

 _Remember even in the darkness, you are the light._

His mother's words echoed in his head, a dream of her forming in his mind, not the same as before but comforting enough that he began to drift off. He knew his mother, and his brother had faith in him. Right now it was all he needed.

The End


End file.
